Before Jihan could answer, something caught his eye near the bottom of the compartment—a slim bundle of envelopes, tied together with the same brittle rubber band that had held the file, tucked into the space where the papers had originally fallen from.
He reached for them with unsteady hands.
"There's more," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
They spread the envelopes across the desk, and Jae-min's breath caught at what he saw—each one addressed simply to *Jihan and Tae-hyun*, no return address, no postmark, just a date written in the corner of each in the same careful, looping hand from the letter they'd already read.
"These are all separate," Jihan said, sorting through them with shaking fingers. "Different dates. Look—this one's from years ago."
He opened it, and inside was a single page, shorter than the first letter but written in the same aching, careful voice.
